After The Battle Poem by Stephen Lambert

The banners shift lazily at the zephyr's touch,
Lines of polished steel form roads of evening light.
The air heavy with the sickly stench of recent death
While the jubilation of survival crackles in the dusk.

My death seemed so certain in the frigid dawn.
Acceptance of my fate pervaded my senses
But danger and need contorted thoughts of fear,
Driving thrust and parry ‘til the battle was no more.

The golden orb melts into the western hills
And the white shroud rises to cover the land.
The fallen taken from sight as their souls muster
For the final march to oblivion and memory.

My place in that throng taken by another,
Death, not cheated, but appeased this day.
Another notch on the grizzled staff of my life,
Another dawn before Charon sings my lay.